Answers
by mswyrr
Summary: SSHG, preship. There are still gossipy whispers in his dungeon classroom.
1. Prologue

**Answers: Prologue**   
Disclaimer: They are protected by a copyright which isn't mine.  
A/N: Thanks are owed to **OzRatBag2** for her insightful Beta, and to **Snapdragongrrl** for setting my grammar to rights.   


* * *

  
There are still gossipy whispers in his classroom. Notes written in childish obscenity are passed, and pranks pulled. Severus doesn't envy them their oblivious pleasures; there is no real pleasure in it that he can see, and none of them are as oblivious as they would wish.  
  
The children cling to a pantomime of schoolmate rivalries and hormonal ruttings they call romance. He catches a few, but never pushes them very far. He can no longer be certain of their reactions.  
  
Severus feels the children may one day raise their wands and let bubble forth every curse (from _Jellylegs_, to _Crucio_) upon him. Watching them dumbly perform the steps of the potion he has assigned today, he amuses himself wondering how many points could be taken for such an assault. He sincerely doubts that Dumbledore would punish them for anything at this point. He imagines a gentle _Obliviate_ for each and an order that the House Elves slip mood suppressants in their pumpkin juice.  
  
Their potions froth and many settle at the right color and consistency. Severus is not surprised; it is an absurdly easy potion. They bottle their masterworks, and he dismisses the class without bothering to find a suitably nasty insult.   
  
Hermione Granger hovers at her desk after the other children have left. She arranges her texts neatly in her book bag, shuffles and reshuffles her parchments, and refuses to look at him. Severus begins to wonder if it is grief, or the summer she spent being cosseted by the Weasley's, that has addled her wits.  
  
"I have a question," she says finally.  
  
He stares at her, waiting.  
  
"You were there," she mumbles.  
  
"That," he sneers, "is not a question."  
  
"Fine," she says, her posture stiffening as she looks up at him narrowly. "Were. You. There. Professor?"  
  
"Congratulations, Miss Granger, you've asked a question," he says with false cordiality. "It is vague to the point of incoherency, however. Try again."  
  
She steps around her desk and marches toward him. "Were you there when they killed my parents?"  
  
There is a manic light in her eyes; a rage that lurks, directionless, in the other children. They can't be told, but he _could_ tell her. He would only be confirming her suspicions.  
  
"Yes," he says mildly, curious of her reaction.  
  
It is not what he expects. His words extinguish her rage smoothly as if he were snuffing a candle. She turns away, carefully collects her book-bag, and walks out of his classroom with painful deliberation.   
  
Severus folds his hands tightly; stares down at them. He mentally catalogues seventh year potions syllabi and leaves only when her sobs have ceased to echo in from the corridor.   
  



	2. Chapter One

  
  
Severus woke to the sound of crashing cymbals. He startled in his chair; essay parchments slid off his lap to the floor. He righted them with an irritated flick of his wand and glared at the Wireless on his desk. The Classical Hour had been playing a soothing Baroque piece when he drifted off.  
  
He turned off the bombastic music and made his way to the desk. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as he sat to finish marking essays. He felt pained and over-warm; these short lapses into sleep always left him feverish.  
  
He summoned a glass of water and scanned the seventh year's essays. They were replete with the expected banalities, but there were fewer inaccuracies than last year, proving that the children had indeed learnt something. Several talented graduates, and no great failures, would leave Hogwarts this year; he even expected Longbottom to pass.   
  
Hermione Granger's essay was second to last. He read it with appreciation and growing unease. She had of late shown great passion in her work; her reports were no longer dryly academic, but informed by restricted texts and a palpable hunger for their secrets.  
  
He sympathized with her desire to apprehend, and thereby exert control over, the world through words. It was the only choice for anyone who accepted that relying on bravery and brute strength was the fool's way or had neither quality to begin with.  
  
There was much that would not be taught at Hogwarts while Albus Dumbledore was alive, but Severus made a practice of not inhibiting the students who sought it for themselves. Let the others be coddled, so long as those who wished to survive had their chance.  
  
If he saw now that he had let Miss Granger advance beyond mere survival, into scholarship, well -- it wasn't as if she would be joining the Dark Lord. That option did not exist for her as it did for the others. _She_ would never use her curses on innocents or Muggles.  
  
The clock chimed midnight as he finished the last essay. He stood and took up his cloak for patrol. He left his rooms, warding the door. He checked location spells anchored to the Slytherin prefect badges; they were where they ought to be.  
  
The halls were chill. Severus set his stride; paced swiftly through the dark on shoes charmed for silence. He took pleasure in the movement. His cloak swirled behind him in the still air; warmth built in his muscles, burning away the ache from his earlier sleep. His mind cleared and fell into a comfortable rhythm with his body.  
  
He avoided the other House's prefects when he saw their lit wands. He didn't care to meet any of them. Many had begun to consider themselves and their heads of house the sole protectors of Hogwarts. He had deduced from their disrespect of him, and increased bullying of his children, that Slytherins were not part of what these self-satisfied students felt needed protecting.   
  
His initial vigor began to evaporate as he finished walking the dungeons, took to the lower levels, and stepped outside to do a sweep of the grounds. As he finished methodically covering his portion of the castle, he found himself looking forward to a hot bath and sleeping draught with unwelcome desperation.   
  
At last he came to his own door. He took down the wards and opened it with a whisper.  
He stepped inside, removed his outer cloak, and was cursed to the floor from behind.   
  
His chin struck the stone floor, snapping his jaw shut. A low whine built in his throat as his muscled seized and contorted. He convulsed involuntarily, and his head hit the wall. The impact dazed him, and for a moment he felt blank relief.   
  
He was wrenched. He felt his muscles were being torn from their tendons. He drew air instinctively, in sips and starts. He couldn't breathe; he couldn't hold his breath. He longed to pass out.   
  
A voice cried out. The curse ended. It's hot, frictive agony gone, he felt splintered and frozen. He lay quiet, twitching like a near dead insect. He sought a regular breathing pattern as he stared at the uneven stone floor, re-orientating and grounding himself.  
  
Panting inhalations and choked sobs echoed in the room. They were not coming from him.   
He flexed his fingers delicately and felt for his wand. He determined that his attacker had removed it when he fell.  
  
Having taken full stock of his body, and discovered that there would be no lasting damage, he turned his mind to his attacker's identity.   
  
What could he deduce from the method of the attack?   
  
Well, it hadn't been the darkest of curses. Even so, his attacker had not let it run its course, cast another, or indeed shut the door; he could feel an air current. Severus listened to the wretch gasping and blubbering, as if _he'd_ been the one assaulted. No, definitely _not_ a Death Eater.   
  
A student, then?  
  
Tired of suppositions, he shifted painfully, and looked up at the weeping face of Hermione Granger. She stood just inside the doorway, holding her wand unsteadily. She was shuddering all over.  
  
She glared down at him with her teary, red-rimmed eyes.  
  
"I'm _not_ sorry," she said, her voice sounding snotty and cracked.  
  
Severus put his regained lung capacity to use. He snorted derisively.   
  
"This doesn't mean I'm sorry," she said with more force.  
  
He smirked. "You will be," he said, without rancor.  
  
He cursed himself a fool when he saw her posture stiffen. She took a breath and steadied her wand, looking resolved. He felt an instant of horror when he saw her lips forming a tight "o".   
  
_Obliviate._  
  



	3. Chapter Two

  
  
Hermione Granger's hand shook as it hovered over her cauldron. Severus frowned. What purpose could she have for armadillo bile in a _Calming Draught_?  
  
"_Miss Granger_," he hissed, reaching for her arm.  
  
She startled and turned. He stepped back as the phial slipped from her hand. It struck the floor and broke; yellow armadillo bile oozing out in a spreading puddle.  
  
She pulled her wand, flinching as she muttering a cleaning spell. He wondered at her nervous behavior.  
  
"Fifteen points form Gryffindor for wasting supplies," he said. She refused to meet his eyes and kept sending desperate looks in Potter's direction. Severus glanced suspiciously between the two. Had they been planning mischief?  
  
"Detention at eight, Miss Granger," he said, watching them closely. Mr. Weasley looked ready to object, but Potter placed a hand on his arm, and gave Severus a very nasty look.   
  
Would his intervention prevent the boy's plans, Severus wondered as he walked to the front of the class, or were they merely delayed?  
  
He gave the three of them a long, scrutinizing look, and dismissed the class.  
  


***  


  
Severus was measuring a new delivery of chameleon scales when she arrived. He observed her in the periphery of his vision as she fidgeted in the storeroom's doorway.   
  
"You will be scrubbing cauldrons tonight, Miss Granger," he said casually, without looking up. "Leave your wand."   
  
She reached around the doorframe, placed her wand at the farthest edge of his workbench, and left. He sealed the chameleon scales in a jar, and shelved it properly. When he heard her begin scrubbing, he fetched her wand.   
  
He unrolled a fresh parchment, calmly sprinkled ink along the bottom, and set her wand at the top.   
  
"_Scribe tabulam incantamenta_," he murmured.  
  
The ink droplets slid upward, reforming themselves into the names of the spells she had most recently cast; a cleaning charm, seventh year Transfiguration spells, half a dozen _Accios_, and a _Lumos_.   
  
He was about to give up, and assume that either they hadn't put their plan into action yet, or whatever they'd done hadn't required any unusual spells, when he saw a clothing charm, which she apparently never used. It had been cast after _Mobilicorpus_, which had followed an _Obliviate_, and even more unsettlingly, _Animam Suffoco_.   
  
Neither spell was Unforgivable. However, _Animam Suffoco_ bordered the edges of Dark; it was unpleasant enough not to be taught at Hogwarts. He heard the water slosh as she cleaned, and he wondered what scheme could possibly justify its use to a moralist like Hermione Granger.   
  
Severus moved to watch her from the door way, disturbed that whatever they had done that weekend would have been impossible without his indulgence of her recent interest in restricted magics. It now that appeared she was in need of guidance.  
  
He cast a silencing spell, and crossed the room. "It is not wise to rely on memory charms," he said civilly, testing her.   
  
She turned, and seeing him so close, backed into the sink's edge. Her expression practically screamed guilt. He was disappointed by her transparency, and what he had to do because of it.   
  
He stepped forward quickly, while she was still dumb with surprise and firmly grasped her chin with his left hand. He tilted her face, raised his wand, and stared into her eyes.  
  
_ "Legilimens."  
  
"Yes," her professor said. He was assessing her with his horrible black eyes, and a air of scientific curiosity. She hated him for it.  


. . .  


  
He stared down at her from his position of authority, unrepentant. Untouched, while she felt so small and scrubbed raw, violated.  
  
He isn't sorry, she thought, aghast. No, not sorry at all.   
  
She'd make him sorry.  


. . .

  
"I'm not sorry," she said, but she was. She was, oh god, she was.   
  
Why couldn't she hurt him?  
  
"You will be," he said, and smirked, as if he were still behind his teacher's desk.   
  
**Teacher**, oh god...  


. . .

  
_   
"_Finite Incantatam_," he gasped, recoiling from her hatred and confusion.  
  
She steadied herself on a nearby stool, and clung to it, shivering. He listened to her breathe harshly as he pieced together what he had seen.   
  
Her thoughts settled with his own. For once, the peculiar understanding afforded by Legilimency wasn't an irritant. She had a fine mind, and a moral sense that existed independant from authority's approval. Both faculties had been regrettably unsettled by her loss. He wondered for a moment how else he could have expected her to react.   
  
The image of other children's blank eyes came to him, and he was suddenly glad one of his students had the strength to fight, even if it was misdirected. He couldn't cultivate a weak spirit, but he could give her the knowledge she needed to survive and have her revenge.  
  
Pulling herself together, she cast a hopeless glance at the door. "What are you going to do?" she gasped, and then, trying to sound brave, "Am I to be expelled?"  
  
Did she really think the Headmaster would allow that to happen? She'd done far less to him than Sirius Black and with a far better reason. If the Headmaster were alerted, he would choose to _Obliviate_ her. Dumbledore would say she'd been addled with grief at the time, and he'd never, ever accept that she had a right to her hate.   
  
Severus took a long moment to assess her. She'd straightened her posture, and was meeting his eyes with an expression of determination hiding fear. No, he thought, this was a lesson she must learn, and remember.   
  
"Expelled?" he scoffed. "Miss Granger, have you given any thought to a sentence at Azkaban prison?"  
  
She flinched, and her eyes flickered to the storeroom. He didn't need Legilimency to know what she was thinking.  
  
"Don't," he said, "you'd never reach your wand."  
  
Her body coiled; she looked as if she were about to scream. He paused for a moment, and then put his concerns aside. The most memorable lessons were taught in abject terror.   
  
"Imagine," he said nastily, "the many wizards and witches at the Ministry of Magic who would like to see you, Albus Dumbledore's great symbol of muggleborn achievement, in the cell beside Lucius Malfoy?"  
  
"No," she choked out, "please..."  
  
"No, is it? Well, if you handle your future... _endeavors_ this sloppily, you can be certain that's where you'll end up."  
  
A look of hope came into her eyes at his phrasing. "I'm not -- there won't be any future endeavors, sir!" she said, looking very earnest.  
  
"So you've given up?" he sneered.  
  
"No! -- but, sir, I can't."  
  
"Can't? What can't you?" he pressed.  
  
"Hurt people," she whispered.  
  
"And are you ashamed of that?" he asked, leaning close.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
He pulled back. "Don't be," he said plainly. "Leave the brutality to the brutes," he said, and added, as if sharing a secret, "There are wiser methods for accomplishing your goals, girl."  
  
She looked surprised at his change in demeanor.  
  
"This should be simple for someone of above average intelligence," he continued, "which I had thought you possessed. Was I mistaken?"  
  
"I don't know, sir."  
  
"Come now, self-effacement doesn't suit you, Miss Granger. What have you deduced from this conversation?"  
  
"That I'm not going to Azkaban," she ventured warily.  
  
"That should have been blatantly obvious for some time now. What else?"  
  
"I don't know, sir."  
  
"Then you would do well to listen carefully," Severus said, ordering this thoughts. "Revenge must be approached with great care; any action taken should not be, as yours were, an irrational outburst."  
  
She sat on the stool in the dim light. Her forehead was creased, and her face had the particular expression she wore during a class. He felt for an instant as if he were giving a speech to first year students.  
  
"You must not rely on memory charms. If you intend to keep secrets, study Occlumency. There are several texts on the subject, and Mr. Potter should be able to teach you their practical implementation," he smirked, "that is, if the Headmaster ever manages to successfully hammer it into that boy's head."  
  
He waited a moment for her to object on the boy's behalf; when she didn't, he let the smirk drop.  
  
"Never hex a Wizard unless you're prepared to kill him," he said gravely, and narrowed his eyes. "Don't expect your future quarry to be as charitable as I."  
  
She looked a little sick to hear it in those terms.   
  
"And with regards to me; you've had your pound of flesh. If you want more, turn your mind to points two and three, and realize that next time I will be prepared," he said harshly. "Whilst I do recognize your right to recompense, I cannot allow you to imperil a vital source of information to the Order," he gave her a significant look. "Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir," she said, looking overwhelmed.  
  
"Good. Go and collect your wand," he said, stepping aside.  
  
When she came to the classroom door, he called out to her. She stilled, but did not turn to face him. He was rather glad she hadn't. He felt suddenly ill.  
  
"I am sorry," he said, "for your loss."  
  
A shuddering sigh went through her, and her shoulders drooped. She stood a long moment in the torchlight, letting the silence speak for her.  
  
-END-  
  


* * *

I'm greedy for constructive criticism. If you enjoyed the story, please oblige me. Random thoughts are also welcome.   
  
Author's notes: I owe thanks to **OzRatBag2** for her beta work, **Snapdragongrrl** for polishing the grammar and **gaius_valerius** for helpfully composing two Latin spells for this chapter. Without them this story would have been incalculably impoverished. 

I am in the process of writing a sequel to _Answers_ tentatively titled _Recompense_. However, because I am a slow writer, I don't intend to post the sequel until the majority of it is finished. It's going be a long while between updates. 


End file.
